


you & i (& no one else)

by rosemallows



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming of Age, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Kissing, M/M, Secret Relationship, Snowball Fight, Surprise Kissing, Winter, growing up sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27803923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosemallows/pseuds/rosemallows
Summary: Richie’s expression was unlike any other, so full of something; joy and comfort and gentleness, nothing so abrasive as he usually did. And he stole a glance upward, drinking in the dark blue night, the sprinkle of constellations, the full moon, and the drifting snow. In Derry, there had never been such a winter night; a feeling of fondness or a breath of air- it was such a different feeling. He laughed, giddy, frigid in this weather, and leaned in, toward Eddie, toward everything.He did not want anything to pull him away, not It, not even the Losers, because it was justthem and their business, their moment,and no one else’s.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 70





	you & i (& no one else)

**Author's Note:**

> please check out my other reddie fic [_fears tell me fears, don't get me started ___](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26991658) _ ___

_“OW!”_ shrieked a particularly anguished Stan as soon as Richie’s frozen sphere of ice came into contact with his nose. _One down, two more to go._

“Stan!” They heard Mike gasp.

 _“Ouch!_ Now that’s gonna leave a mark!” Richie shouted from behind a frozen bush in an exaggerated announcer voice. “Maybe you should put some ice on that, Stan!” He ducked back down once he caught sight of the other teenager’s irked expression, nearly hidden behind his cloth mask. “Ooh. He’s angry,” he muttered to his partner in this snowball fight sitting beside him.

Winter in Derry, Maine; it was perhaps the coldest it had ever been this time of the year, so much so that the Quarry was frozen thick enough to run across, and snowflakes fluttered down heavily upon the residents- logically resulting in a Snow Day for the students of Derry High. This day, for a multitude of reasons, had excited Richie Tozier to a great extent; one being that he was able to see his friends altogether, which had been quite a long while, and two, the fifth annual Losers’ Club Snowball fight!

“Maybe we should come up with a strategy so we could win, you know?” proposed Ben Hanscom, bundled up in hats and scarves as he held his arms around himself behind their little fort. Two snowballs whizzed over the duo’s heads and hit the tree ahead of them.

“Come on out, Rich! Or are you gonna hide like a pussy until we ambush you!” screamed a particularly fired up Eddie, who was partnered up with Stan and Mike, respectively. Richie merely scoffed at the offense, knowing that that attitude would diminish seconds after their war was over. Earlier in this battle, both teams had successfully ambushed both Bill and Beverly in a matter of seconds before any of them had even devised an opportunity; which Richie thought to blame on Bill, who likely was thinking of the most gentle strategy to attack their situation. The snowball fight had grown extremely tense and increasingly competitive, and the boy wearing glasses noted that the longer it continued, the more terse his partner was becoming, which was aggravating, as he so desperately wanted to be crowned Snowball Champion for the fifth year in a row.

The rules of the battle were simple; if you were on opposite teams, you were temporarily no longer friends, but bloodthirsty enemies who would stop at nothing to be declared the winner. Hence, both Eddie and Richie’s bickering was cranked up to about 500%, much to Ben’s dismay. Violence was utterly inevitable, and no matter what, someone would always leave with an aching bruise or a piercing headache. Now, as the two remaining teams stood against each other, Beverly Marsh, whose hair had grown much longer over the years, and Bill Denbrough, whose snow hat nearly hid all of his face, sat on the remains of their snow fort, spectating as they conversed among themselves.

“Well what’s your plan, Ben?” Richie spoke, staring intensely at him. He was panting, breathing out puffs of ice-cold air and already digging his gloved hands in the snow to form more balls. “I’m all ears because that little fucker is relentless.” The young Hanscom boy pondered for a few brief seconds, eyeing the trees around them and sneaking small peeks from behind their shelter at the other side.

“There’s too much open space,” he stated. “So maybe running straight into the crossfire isn’t a good idea.”

“You think?” the other responded, sniffling in between each craft. “Why don’t I just keep making the ammo. Just keep making sure our shield is stable, huh?” Ben nodded, scooping up handfuls of loose snow and throwing it onto the block. The other rolled his eyes. Another snowball shot at their defense, and Eddie Kaspbrak screamed another word of insult.

“It’s about to get dark soon. A full moon tonight, too,” Ben muttered. “I really don’t want to be out here when . . .” He paused, listening, but only hearing the wind, the sound of Eddie making countless remarks, and the crunch of Richie’s footsteps against snow as he marched around their perimeter to search for more compact pieces of snow. “Hey, where’s Mike?” Richie lifted his chin, breath stopping and halting the snowball making process. He looked toward his partner, both of their faces paling.

“I haven’t heard from him since . . . since . . .” The Trashmouth stopped speaking, snatched a sphere and stood up at lightning speed, just in time to slam his ammunition right into the chest of the enemy; Mike Hanlon who was hovering just above them; yelling out in surprise as he stumbled backward from their fort, bits of ice and snow clinging onto his thick jacket. “A-ha! Yes!” 

_“No!”_ Richie heard the remaining boy shriek at the loss. The boy threw his arms up in the air, cackling at his speedy brain. Mike Hanlon clicked his tongue and shook his head in response, humble about his loss.

“Good game,” the teenager laughed, then frowned at his own defeat as his former enemy backed down behind the fort, giggling triumphantly at the close call. Loyal to the rules, he wiped down his shirt and looked toward the three Losers who were simply spectating and clapping their hands.

“God, I am so fucking incredible,” Rich exclaimed. “Suck on that Eddie-bear!”

“So close, Mike,” Beverly called from beside Bill and Stan. 

“Y-Yeah. You al-almost got Rich,” the other smiled, beckoning him over with his hand. As the game continued, he wandered over to the makeshift bench where his former teammate, Stan, was shaking his head in dismay.

“And then there was one,” he muttered, holding a hand over his bruised nose. “Seriously. Three of us on one team and yet they _still_ manage to beat us! This is so. So. Depressing.” The Losers sat on a fort that stood quite a long distance away from the two remaining forts, unable to truly see what each team was conspiring behind the scenes.

“They haven’t beaten you guys yet. Eddie’s still got a fight in him,” Beverly pointed out, gesturing toward the fort where the hyperactive teenager was furiously crafting snowball after snowball and building up his snow fort with more chunks of tightly packed snow pieces. 

“He’s pretty competitive this year,” Mike observed matter-of-factly.

“I just think he’s tired of always losing to Rich,” Stanley replied, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Rich has Ben with him though. How do you think that’s gonna go?” Stanley glanced over at his teammate, shrugging his shoulders, then adjusted his hand-woven scarf that was wrapped around his throat twice.

“W-Well, the way Eddie’s going now, he m-muh-might have a sh-sh-shot at winning this time,” Bill noted. He squinted his eyes at the more hidden fort, spotting Ben’s peeking eyes.

“It’s interesting how it manages to always boil down to one-on-one battle,” Beverly commented. “Last year it was me and Richie.”

“The year before it was him and Eddie,” Stanley muttered. “Thank god we never put those two on one team. They’d kill us all in three seconds.” Snowballs whizzed through the air along with jabbing insults.

“Hey Eddie! That snowball I just threw has _yellow_ snow in it!” A shout of disgust.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME, ASSHOLE? THAT’S SO NOT FUNNY! THE AMOUNT OF BACTERIA IN THAT SHIT IS INDESCRIBABLE!”

“Well, have you put them on a team before?” Mike wondered, raising a brow. Bill chuckled, digging through his memories momentarily.

“Once. When we w-w-were nine. Totally . . . obliterated Geor-Georgie, Stan and me.” Beverly’s smile beamed softly at the mention of Bill’s late brother; none of them spoke on it, and Bill seemed to be fond of the recollection rather than regretful.

“Then we decided that from then on, we’d never put those two on a team. Either way, even if someone ends up on a team with Richie, he still always is the last one standing. But maybe Ben will persevere,” Stan added. They all turned their eyes toward Ben’s team, feeling quite bad for the boy as he was stuck between the two’s neverending battle of insults.

Richie quickly stood up from his position, hurling snow at Eddie, who dodged the blow. “That fort is as tight as your mom’s vagina!” he taunted, then ducked down where Ben was building up their block. A burst of snow hit their shield. The boy turned to his partner, breathing out puffs of air.

“I think our best bet would be to make a run for it, Benny!” he whispered. The other widened his eyes, then snuck a glance right as a snowball was coming for him and hid once more. 

“Are- Are you sure about that!”

“Dude, yeah! He’s outnumbered! If we just run, I’ll keep throwing snowballs at him while you keep running on the other side! He can’t get both of us. We’ll ambush him!”

“I don’t know Richie, he’s pretty fueled up on soda . . .”

“Don’t you wanna _win!”_ Richie grabbed him by the shoulders, staring deeply into his widened eyes. “Ben! _This_ is our big shot. You wanna be crowned _Snowball Champion of the Year_ with me or not?”

“I,” Ben blinked, honestly not quite as adamant about the competition as his friend was; in fact he was more keen on regrouping with the rest of the Losers and catching up with Beverly about the clubs he’s been in, maybe even drink some hot chocolate when he got home, rather than purposefully being pit against his friends. He would really rather be done with this snowball fight, but the crazy fire burning in Richie Tozier’s competition hungry eyes terrified him to say ‘no’. The boy swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, I wanna win.” He grinned, then released his grip on his jacket. 

“Sick. On the count of three, we get up and run toward his fort. You distract him, dodge his snowballs, and I’ll go straight toward him. I’ve got three more snowballs. I’m gonna use one to stop him from hitting you, another to make him hide again, and the last one to finish him! Got it?”

He nodded reluctantly. “Alright. Let’s do this shit. One . . .” A sphere raced toward them, striking the ground behind them. “Two . . .” Ben held his breath, standing up slightly as Richie did the same. “Three!” The two shot out from behind their hiding place, running further from each other to create a good distance. They heard their friends’ whoops behind them as they spectated the remaining minutes of the battle. With one arm full of snowballs, Richie sprinted with all of his might toward the shorter boy’s hideout. He saw him peek up, then scream, and duck back down. Quickly, he shot up and threw a snowball at his best friend, who easily dodged it, then another at Ben, lagging a ways behind, who luckily preceded that one as well. The Trashmouth launched one out of three balls at his friend which stopped him from flinging another shot at Ben. 

However, before the boy could grab a hold of the second ball, it slipped out of his arms and crashed down into the snow beneath him, leaving him with the last crucial piece to claim their victory. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, glancing at Ben’s miserable expression. He watched as Eddie Kaspbrak stood up again from behind his dune, arm pointed directly at Ben, the other high above him, clenching his weapon so tightly, and suddenly firing with the power of a million military forces right at the other Loser. Unable to protect his friend from the wrath of the young Kaspbrak, Richie watched in horror as the snowball collided with the chest of his teammate, giving him reason to stop and fall to his knees on the icy ground.

“Oh wow,” Stanley deadpanned from the fort. “Aw. There goes Ben.” The Losers groaned collectively, shaking their heads. 

“Would’ve been nice,” Mike muttered. They all turned their attention toward the third place winner, who was wiping bits of ice off of his chest and shaking his head in disbelief at the outcome. He glanced over at them, already so prepared to join and just relax rather than continue any further in this fight, and the Losers were already grinning, opening their arms to welcome him back into their non-competitive, friendly, family arms while the bloodbath continued. “Welcome to the club, Ben,” Beverly laughed. 

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie called out in a low gravelly voice. He ran at top speed, already approaching the dune in record time and leaping impressively over a snowball that his friend hurled at his feet. He heard the screech of his best friend, muttering about _fuck, no that was my last one!_ and giggled maniacally at the cowering sound. Instantaneously, the tall teenager leaped over the snow fort, face to face with a red-faced, panting Eddie Kaspbrak, sitting firmly against the wall and a hand holding what clearly was _not_ his last snowball, as if he was preparing to shoot. _An attempt to distract_. His eyes were wide as they caught sight of Richie’s glasses, his fired up eyes, and raised his weapon.

Quickly, Rich held his wrist down, smiling triumphantly at him, bringing himself close to his face. “Liar,” he commented, hovering over him with a conniving look. 

“No,” Eddie quickly answered, swallowing at the close proximity, cheeks turning insanely red. “This _is_ my last one!”

“Okay, hit me,” Richie encouraged, bringing his face closer, _knowing_ exactly what he was doing.“You’ve got the winning shot.”

“So do you,” Eddie muttered, glaring daggers at him and raising his chin stubbornly. “I know your tricks, Richard.”

“So, what? Are we just gonna sit here and stare at each other til’ one of us drops dead?”

“Seems that way, asshole!” And so, with scary intensity, the two breathed heavily, snow cradled in one another’s hand, waiting desperately for the other to lose focus and gain vulnerability, momentarily forgetting the blooming feelings both of them had for each other.

“Hey, Eddie, what’s that!” the Trashmouth fruitlessly called out, pointing toward some random direction, as if that could distract him at all.

“Nice try, dick. That shit doesn’t work on me,” the other seethed, eyebrows furrowing together. His friend laughed, raising the snowball higher.

“Was worth a shot,” he answered, glowering fiercely at him. Richie wondered if he could just throw it now, but he was also aware of how much the other had improved and was unsure of just how fast his throw was. Neither of them wanted a _draw_ after all; that’d be an extreme waste of a winner. His heart was palpitating with both excitement and nervousness- he wanted to _win_ and claim victory. He _always_ won, and he was demanding that win, no matter if things had changed between them. They were simply scrutinizing each other, watching for any sudden movement and calculating every breath with eagerness. 

“Why don’t we call a truce?” Eddie spoke up.

“And not get crowned Snowball Champion for the fifth year in a row? Yeah, hard pass on that, Eds.”

“Stubborn bastard. And don’t call me that. We’re enemies,” he muttered, sinking further back against his snow dune.

“Oh, don’chew know it, love,” he responded in the British guy voice with a flirtatious grin, ignoring his second demand. Richie was so close to victory he could practically taste it; and after that he’d be able to get a nice sip of hot chocolate and brag about how incredible he was at this, how everyone needed to step their game up for next year’s battle. But he’d just have to be patient.

“Hmm,” Eddie mumbled. “You know what? I’m tired. I just want to go back already. I think I’m gonna let you win, Richie.”

His eyebrows shot up, cautious. “Is that so, Spaghetti Man?”

“Yeah. You’re the only one who even cares this much about a stupid game,” he answered, furrowing his brows as he lowered his snowball. His friend smiled, pride circling in his chest.

“Aw, so sweet of you to let me win, Eds!” He watched Eddie’s hand falter.

“I just want some hot chocolate. I’m so tired of this. It’s been hours.”

“Yes! White hot chocolate!”

“Definitely not,” Eddie hissed. “That shit is way too fucking sweet.”

“Which is _why_ it’s so perfect!” 

“Whatever! Just hit me already! Get this over with!” Eddie rolled his eyes, pulling his snowball away from his body, squinting daggers at the one who could easily make his stomach do flips without even trying.

“Ever so demanding!” Richie cooed, grinning smugly at his friend. As he raised his arm up to further exaggerate his final blow, however, the boy was taken aback by the sudden force of a very determined Eddie pulling down the collar of his jacket. The boy yanked him toward him, causing him to drop his knees forward, making a startled noise in the process. Eddie’s back hit against the fort. With his hand gripping the front of his thick snow jacket, he leant forward and kissed his chapped lips firmly in the precipitation of snow, completely altering the war plans this year and knocking the blood-thirsty snow-battle free from Richie’s brain. Eddie’s fist gripped the fronts of his coat tightly as he savored his lips, pressing forward, earning a muffled sound of pleasure from the other. The way they were, with the playful bickering and how they were when no one around to see clear enough, he realized now, right as his lips touched his, that no one else could make him feel the way that Eddie felt. No one else. 

And Richie was suddenly fine with waiting until after the kiss to claim his victory if it meant relishing this sweet moment in the snow; able to be the only one to taste his lips, hidden from the other Losers, hidden from everything else, hidden from the whole wide world because any moment with him will always be something to cherish and save before the tick of time ruins it all. 

Eddie’s hand pushed him back, and Richie Tozier’s eyes were wide, so, so wide, and so in love and full of pure adoration and a grin that was no longer smug and devilish, but content and serene. 

“Fuck, Eds, I—”

“Beep beep, Rich.”

“Huh?”

Suddenly, a burst of snow and ice hit Richie right in the face, knocking his glasses askew and leaving a throbbing pain in his cheeks and nose. He fell onto his back at the force, bewildered and betrayed at the deflection; pride and ego damaged significantly as he threw his hands up to his face to soothe the ache and fix his now wobbly glasses. The ghost of a passionate mouth on his own was still fresh in his mind, as well as the very painful pulse in his face that had him moaning unpleasantly. Eddie Kaspbrak stood atop of the snow dune, cheering and whooping, screaming, “I won! I won! I won! I am officially the _Losers’ Club Snowball Champion of 1991!”_

The sky’s colors were fading to orange as the sunset began to take place and allow stars to shine through the dark. From afar, the group stood to their feet, jaws dropped at the sudden change in pattern over the years as Eddie’s cheers stole their attention.

“Oh my god,” Stanley commented. “No. Way.”

“He really beat him,” Bill muttered, astounded as he watched the smaller boy pump both fists in the air. It was comical; a small boy wearing a puffer jacket and such a feminine sight appearing as an absolute madman as he jumped up and down, shaking his arms full of energy. He shook his head, rolling his eyes at Eddie’s dramatic reaction. Beverly merely cackled at the idiotic sight of her friends, taking such a simple and light-hearted game way too seriously for the entire club’s taste. She turned her gaze toward Ben who was simply chuckling to himself, scratching at his face.

“How was it being Richie’s partner in this fight?” she asked, a warm smile aimed at him. He peered at her kind stare, sitting up straight as he answered her.

“It was . . . okay. He was so persistent in winning though. It was really tiring.” Ben shook his head, rubbing at his eyes as his friend laughed.

Meanwhile, Richie’s wounded ego pinned him to the snowy ground. The championship that was so easily ripped from his hands left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he shifted his gaze toward the teenager still standing strong on top of his fort. The last four years were significantly different; distractions were easily deflected and the thirst for victory was stronger than his internal confusion then. _Of course_ Eddie was able to snag this opportunity; smart of him, yet it hurt to see his streak shatter into a million pieces. He brought himself to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain in the middle of his face. Instead of congratulating him, like one normally should, he ran up and tackled the boy to the ground. As they collided into the snow, Eddie squeaked out an _oomf_ noise. He clambered on top of him, pinning him with a free arm as he squirmed and protested beneath him. His eyebrows furrowed behind his glasses, letting out his despair and morose about losing.

“You dick! You cheated! You cheated so hard!” Richie declared, struggling to get a handle on his squirming body. Eddie’s face scrunched up.

“No I didn’t! I took advantage of my opponent and used his weaknesses against him!” he screamed back.

“I had you! That is _so_ against the rules!”

“No it’s not!”

“Is too!”

“You are _so_ gonna pay for that, Eddie!”

“Why!? Stop being such a sore loser!”

“I’m not a sore loser! You’re a cheater!”

“I’m _smart,_ dipshit! Like you could’ve thought of that!”

“I could have pulled that shit, _easy!”_

“Oh yeah? Why didn’t you then, huh Rich?”

“Because– Because you beat me to it!” he exclaimed, pale face flustering up red.

“I thought that was _cheating!”_

“Aha! So you’re admitting that you cheated, Eds!?”

“I didn’t! Stop twisting my words, asshole!”

“You took advantage of my heart!”

“We were at _war,_ dumbass!”

“Yeah, where _feelings are supposed to be thrown out the window!”_

“It’s not my fault you forgot about that rule!”

“It’s your fault you cheated and _used that rule!”_

“Not cheating!”

“Is too!”

“Shut up!” Stanley shouted as he made his way over. “Why are you two _arguing?”_ he said, exasperated as he approached with his mask pulled up over his nose. Richie and Eddie paused their bickering. In the moment that Rich released his hold on him, Eddie seized the opportunity to push him off and stand back up. The rest of the Losers joined, appearing quite amused at the sight.

“Eddie totally cheated,” Richie muttered, holding a hand over his throbbing nose.

“Totally _didn’t,”_ Eddie shot back, eyeing the way he held his face in pain.

“Fine,” Mike intercepted. “We can sort this out. Why do you think Eddie cheated, Rich?”

“Because–” the teenager stopped. He glanced at all of his friends’ waiting gazes, some utterly amused, and others simply worn out and eager to go home. He rolled his eyes and peered down at the snow, shaking his head in disbelief. “Whatever. Let’s just go back.”

“. . . Okay then,” Mike replied, a little stunned at the lack of continued fighting from Richie, yet he didn’t complain, as he was also quite keen on warming his body in a heated home. “Congratulations, Eddie. You’re the new champion!”

“Woo!” he laughed, pumping another first in the air as the teen beside him rolled his eyes bitterly.

“Whatever,” Rich mumbled.

“Think of it as a humbling experience,” Stanley replied as the group continued to march on from their battle grounds. “Now that your ego is damaged, you won’t have such a big head next year.”

“Big head! That’s what the ladies all say about me! Sorry you can’t relate, Stan.” The teen scowled in response at his humor.

“Don’t worry Stan. He just can’t handle the fact that _I_ took his title. Side effects of a sore loser!”

“I’m totally not a sore loser. Don’t you guys think you’d be a _little_ upset if your five-year guaranteed victory was stolen from you by a short little _troll?”_

“Hey!” Eddie protested, punching the other in the arm. Rich simply stuck his tongue out at him.

“Bite me.” Eddie flipped him off.

“I mean, I’d be pretty upset,” Beverly answered with a chuckle.

“Thank you, Bev!”

 _“But,_ a fair game is a fair game, Rich. And you’re being unnecessarily mean to Eddie.”

“Thank you!”

“I’m not being mean. I’m being _me.”_ He stole a glance at Eddie, taking in his facade of being Richie’s bitter best friend, one that they both knew was an act they put up all the time; no written words needed. 

“C-Can we s-stop talking about who won?” Bill breathed out, drained of energy. “It-It doesn’t matter. We h-had fun. That’s all that matters.”

“Exactly,” Ben agreed. “It was pretty fun.”

“Really? You kinda looked like you wanted to puke there, Benny-boy,” Richie commented, earning a look of disapproval from the others.

“Well, yeah, but it was fun. As a whole.”

“Agreed,” Mike answered. “I mean, I think spectating was more entertaining. Kind of like watching an extreme sport.”

“Well, speaking of things _fun_ and _entertaining,”_ Richie interrupted, wrapping an arm around Eddie that would come off as casual and typical Richie behavior. “So what’s the plan tonight? Bill’s house? Movie night?”

“Tonight?” Mike inquired. “Oh, we didn’t plan for tonight?”

“Well, we never usually _plan_ things out,” Richie smiled, eager, _hopeful_ to return to how they were in middle school and perhaps crash at Bill’s house, drink homemade hot chocolate and laugh at their attempts to bake holiday cookies. It was their _thing._ Most of their activities were never formally planned; just one idea, and they all followed suit, improvising anything that came after. He scanned the others’ faces, all upsettingly contorting into ones that said, _sorry, we can’t hang out tonight._

His face fell.

“I would’ve loved to hang out more,” Mike insisted, a sorrowful look present on his features. “Really, but my grandpa wanted me home early to take care of some of the animals. They don’t do so well in the cold.”

“And I promised the residents at the nursing home that I’d help them during Bingo,” Stanley added, holding his arms together. Richie could hear the wind howling over them- dumping more flakes of snow onto their group. “I know that sounds lame to you guys, but volunteering’s been taking up my schedule a bunch, and they’ll need me. Especially in weather like this.”

Richie examined the remaining few’s faces, hopeful, _eager_ for one more normal time together maybe. But, today he did not get the wish he so desperately wanted. He didn’t even make a quip about Stanley acting eighty and living in a nursing home already at age fifteen.

“My aunt doesn’t like me out in this weather—”

“I-I’m babys-sitting my neighbor’s kid for cash—”

“I really would have agreed if you told me a week ago, but me and the AV club planned to work on fixing an old radio later.”

“Great, you guys have lives,” Richie replied flatly. “Man, what happened to crashing at someone’s house once we went on an adventure? That was like an unspoken thing we had!”

Beverly shared an uneasy look with Bill. “Well, I know, Richie,” she answered. “But,”

“But we’re all growing up,” Stan finished with uncertainty. “We just have more responsibilities now.”

“Yeah,” Bill responded. “It- It doesn’t mean w-we don’t want to be friends.” Eddie saw the despair grow in his partner’s eyes, saw him lift his glasses and purse his lips at the answers he received.

“There’s always next time,” Mike reassured. “I’ll find a spot in my schedule, but for now, my grandpa is trying to get me to do more work around the farm. He’s not as strong as he was before.”

“Yeah, same,” the rest chorused in agreement.

The snow trickled on all of them; for once, Richie was left with no words, and was simply thinking of every sort of responsibility the Losers had all gained, and wondered, seriously wondered, if he was wasting his life away by wishing, _hoping_ that they could be all together like they had two years ago. That was all he wanted- not jobs or cars or volunteer work. Just their presence. Him and Eddie stood in the falling snow, watched as the sky officially lost interest in the color orange and melted into that peaceful black as each Loser walked further and further away, bidding each other adieu until the next time. With each passing step, Eddie watched Richie’s face fall further and further. 

“Sorry, Rich, Eddie,” Beverly apologized before adjusting her knitted hat and hugging them both tightly in a regretful goodbye. “Love you guys.” She took one glance at Richie’s face, must have seen the way he looked, how his expression did not match his personality, and smiled at Eddie. 

“See ya Bev,” he answered in that signature, cheerful tone. But she peeled away from them, walked off toward the exit of the fields, waving her gloved hand, leaving only them, and them alone as the moon’s pale gaze cut through the night. They stood alone, side by side, as usual, them, no one else.

“Well,” Eddie spoke; gentle and soft and a cut through the quiet winds of their night, a sound like the burst of moonlight. Nothing like the angry soldier he was just a few moments ago. It was quite an odd night, and quite a sorrowful ending to what was meant to be exciting, but that simple sound relieved the other. “There’s always the diner.”

The other glanced back at him, at his large eyes, still so childlike, and at his faint smile- a grin for him, and one he so easily loved and adored every time he laid his eyes on him. “Can we go to the night cafe instead? They have white hot chocolate.” His sound was dejected. _So much for forgetting about the future._ Eddie was acutely aware about the situation, refusing to fuel the already grim outcome by dismissing his love for sickeningly sweet hot beverages.

“Yeah,” he answered, quietly; a change in their usual loud demeanor. They walked on, side by side, away from the forts, from the trees, and along the sidewalk toward the general direction of town as the weather urged on, singing winds and darkened sky. And as they continued to walk, silently side by side, the bitter and brooding thoughts that would normally form in Richie’s head were thankfully quelled by Eddie’s mindless chatter, whether about odd stories consisting of rare diseases he remembered, or a story consisting of his mother yelling at a poor waitress who was just trying to do her job- it helped to ignite Richie’s laughbox, warm his stomach and ease his continuing crisis. 

“Is your face okay?” Eddie asked, capturing his attention. His hand moved up to the grey bruise forming on his face, and saw Richie’s lips turn upward in a smile. “We can always just run to my house. I can fix it up, or, or see if it’s broken. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

“Did too,” Richie said, though it came out softer than intended. “Was that your plan all along? Seduce me these past few months just so you could steal my crown?”

“What! No!” Eddie profusely explained, hearing him chuckle at his reaction. 

“It’s _fine, Eds,_ yeesh. Nothing could break this gorgeous face.”

“God, maybe I didn’t hit you hard enough.”

“Ouch! You know, you say that, but you’re the one who kissed this face.” Richie leaned over puckering his lips and emitting teasing kissing noises so that Eddie was pushing him off, pushing his face away with a grin.

The winter breaths escaped their mouths, breathing in and breathing out, laughing and puffing icy breaths as the duo made their strides along the snow covered streets. Derry was quiet; peacefully so, and snow continued to spiral downward, gracing everything it touched. Richie’s gloved hand brushed against Eddie’s tentatively as they walked on. Eddie lifted his own chin up, let the fingers curl with his, felt the radiating warmth and Richie’s exhaling breath. The louder of the two slowed to a stop, let the winds echo in his ears. The shorter one followed suit and looked up at his friend. He smiled, cheeks a rosy pink, from the cold, or from this feeling. 

Richie’s expression was unlike any other, so full of _something_ ; joy and comfort and gentleness, nothing so abrasive as he usually did. And he stole a glance upward, drinking in the dark blue night, the sprinkle of constellations, the full moon, and the drifting snow. In Derry, there had never been such a winter night; a feeling of fondness or a breath of air- it was such a different feeling. Richie locked their hands tight, his gaze now focused on Eddie. He laughed, giddy, frigid in this weather, and leaned in, toward Eddie, toward everything.

He kissed him gently, bringing his body closer with a gentle pull of his hips, taking in everything joyful– blissful and sweet. Richie pushed his mouth with only slightly more force, slipping in his tongue as he kissed. And Eddie would never quite describe how painfully pleasurable his abdomen and every nerve in his body felt; gentle hands on his hips, a body so close to his, chest against chest and a soft mouth soaking him in, all so overwhelmingly beautiful. He released such a soft sound of pleasure that caused Richie to hold him further, closer, and laugh happily. His hands released hold on him, and Eddie felt his lips pull away so gently that the cold came rushing back to his mouth. Richie’s eyes lingered on his; scrutinizing those dazed, glittering brown eyes, his flushing nose and cheeks and red, red lips wet with saliva. The area was so quiet, save for the sound of the howling winds, and it was just them, just them in a small town, breathing quietly, watching each other with loud thoughts. Richie laughed, brought his gaze down to their feet, then back up to him and his awed face, a look of wanting still there.

“I just wanted to kiss you. You’re too pretty,” he cooed.

Eddie’s eyes rolled, a look of disbelief present on his face and replacing his once soft, astonished expression. “Shut the fuck up.” Richie simply kissed the tip of his nose, fallen in too deep, fallen too hard to be afraid of his own emotions anymore. The mindset of the world was stuffed in the back of his head for now, and he refused to acknowledge the fears because he was here, with everything he could ever want. 

Richie would never understand how they’ve evolved here; the feeling to wrap his arms tightly around himself, soar into the sky and float above with how _ethereal_ just being near him felt, and they continued on- walking anywhere. This new step they’ve taken felt _right,_ felt like something that should only be between the two of them. No other Losers, no other family members; just them, and them alone, basking in the emptiness of the winter and making it their own, holding each other’s warmth and thriving off of each other’s feelings. He glanced at Eddie, watching his smile, so distant and pleasing he could melt just watching it. Childlike glee filled his entire body, wondering, wondering, wondering how he could ever feel joy without the one person he loved there. 

“Rich,” Eddie said, a quiet sound in the winds. “Are you okay?” Richie hummed, slightly confused as to why he would ask.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he answered back.

“Cause, dumbass. I know you.”

“It’s whatever,” he muttered back. “There’s always next time.”

“. . . You’re sure?” he inquired, blinking confusedly. Richie’s expression was solemn, clearly yearning for a touch of that childlike adventure still; that childish excitement and hope still ever so present in his eyes, in his entire expression, but responsibilities still dragged them all away it seemed.

“I mean, I got you here with me,” he stated matter-of-factly. “That’s pretty good, at least!”

“Sure,” Eddie shook his head. “Can’t believe they left me with the trash. Assholes.”

He merely chuckled back, pale cheeks colored pink, and his mind wandered. “. . . How did we get here?”

“We walked, idiot.”

“What? No, I mean . . . Us.” Richie stopped again, peering into those eyes, those eyes he’d known over the years. Eddie tilted his head, let lips purse and pondered. “It’s like, there’s no one like us.”

“You mean . . .” 

Richie furrowed his brows, watching the way Eddie’s face began to tighten up in anxiousness, wondering how those gears in his head were turning. “No one as close,” he said, feeling heat creeping over him, anxiety in his stomach. Eddie’s eyes widened an inch. “I mean? Have you seen Greta and her boyfriend? They don’t even fuckin’ like each other! What the hell is _that,_ you know? Like, at least _we_ actually like each other. I mean. I hope.” 

“Oh,” he answered, a grin forming again and that terrified expression leaving. He laughed, a rumble in his chest, leaning forward and letting his head fall against Richie’s chest. And the other boy’s breath halted again, unreal, still absolutely head over heels, falling right in. 

“Yeah . . .” Richie whispered, burrowing his nose into those curls, planting a kiss there. “Spaghetti man, how did we get here?”

“You tell me,” he muttered, muffled in the jacket of his friend. “You kissed me first.” Richie smiled. _I did. Right, I did._

“Sheesh, demanding little dude, huh?” he joked, then paused. “Well. I realized I wanted to spend every damn moment with you. And . . .”

“And?”

“And . . . always wanted to hang out with you. And get a reaction out of you . . .” Another pause. “Then I realized . . .” Eddie waited, eyes blinking and ears opening and listening.

Richie felt sheepish, feeling quite vulnerable. “How badly I wanted to fuck you instead of your mom.” Eddie’s face scrunched up in annoyance and embarrassment.

“Asshole, way to ruin the moment!” He punched his partner in the arm, clicking his teeth and moving away from him as the boy laughed and laughed.

“Sorry, I’m sorry!” he cackled, attempting to pull the other back to him but instead getting his arms shoved off. “Hey hey hey,” he called. “I’m sorry, Eds, come back.” His arms snaked around his waist sneakily, face brushing the back of his neck before nuzzling right in the nape. He felt Eddie shiver beneath him, then melt into the hug. Richie, squeezed his arms tighter, kissing along the skin of his neck.

“Don’t call me that. You’re a dick,” Eddie mumbled, yet tilted his head so that better access to his neck was given. 

“Yeah, I know,” Richie answered. “Let me finish. I’ll be serious.” His face was buried in his neck, arms still holding Eddie. “I realized that I wanted to be around you way more than any of the Losers. And then how much I wanted to kiss you.” He burrowed his nose into his neck again, smiling against his skin. “Like this.” His arms moved dangerously low, traveling down the waistline of his jeans, and his mouth pressed teasingly against his shoulder. As a result, Eddie’s face flustered up and breath rattled nervously.

“Beep beep, Rich,” he mumbled, though the statement had no indication of him expecting him to stop. But he did. His grip on the smaller one loosened, and he lifted his chin from the boy’s shoulder.

“Now look. It’s us here.” Eddie’s head turned slightly. “And no one else.” Eddie’s lips upturned into that signature smile, content, felt lips pecking his neck, to his jawline, felt the vibrations of little snickers on his skin, felt the warmth in his abdomen travel up to his chest and face and let his brain feel like mush with the dizziness of Richie’s affection. “And that’s . . . that’s fine.” _That wasn’t so true. He missed them. Missed childhood._

Their destination was still quite a bit away- a night cafe that existed to indulge and cater to their cravings, but the walk would not be so unbearable, so long as they were in one another’s company.

The young Tozier’s brain was full of _Eddie,_ and he pondered how each day his head was getting fuller and fuller of possibility and suppressing thoughts about his own future; far too focused on the present. With someone so dear in his arms, beneath his lips and connected right to him, the one thought coming to mind was just _you are so good for me._

He did not want anything to pull him away, not It, not even the Losers, because it was just _them and their business, their moment,_ and no one else’s.

**Author's Note:**

> based on song; _No One Else - The Great Comet of 1812; _because I’ve been rehearsing this song for a performance, so it has been stuck in my head for quite a bit!__  
>  Oddly, I’m not very fond of reading or writing “established relationship” fictions; I much prefer slow burns building up to first kisses. But I decided to give it a shot for the first time, however, I also find that I don’t particularly enjoy seeing “boyfriend/girlfriend” in stories, and perhaps that is because I like to describe romantic relationships with different literary devices rather than just telling readers that. To me, it just feels entirely more beautiful and charming.


End file.
